


Mrs. Dixon

by Catherine_Toast



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, F/M, Generally screwed up people all over the place, Loss of Virginity, Non-Consensual, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Smoking, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Toast/pseuds/Catherine_Toast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What you need to know: It's about power. It's about sex. It's about rape. It's about how sometimes, for some people, love and abuse are all tangled up their hearts and minds and can never be extricated.  This isn't a "let's sit down and talk about our feelings" story. This is a story about people who do the best with the hand they've been dealt, and survive.  Oh, and cigarettes. Endless cigarettes, smoked and shared.  It's a small conceit.  It doesn't mean anything. Maybe none of it means anything.</p>
<p>Actual summary: Beth is trapped in a small trailer with Merle for the winter after the prison falls. She's eventually found by the group, but some things you don't get to come back from.<br/>(Takes place after the prison falls, which I have decided happens around mid October. For whatever reason, Merle is not dead, but was living in the prison with the others when it fell to the Governor. The story flips back and forth between Beth's long winter with Merle and the spring/summer after she's back with the group.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Find me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is exactly. I think at heart it's a Bethyl, though you could argue otherwise. Just know that it's fairly dark and I'll finish it but the ending won't be neat and tidy. Actually, the whole thing is a mess. Don't worry. It's deliberate. Take my hand and I'll walk you through it.
> 
> I wasn't going to post this but I found myself going back and reading it over and over again, so there must be something there.
> 
> Enjoy :)

EARLY APRIL

The sun was going down. Despite the fact that the days were getting longer now, and that the worst of the winter was over, the daylight still always seemed too brief, and slipped away behind the trees too soon. “We need to head back to the house,” said Rick, who was lifting bags into the bed of their truck. Carol nodded. 

“There's not much left here anyway.”

“I don't think there ever was much here,” he said. He shielded his eyes with his hand and waved to Daryl who was slightly further down the road in the tumbledown trailer park, silhouetted against the setting sun. Daryl jogged lightly toward them, when he got close enough to be heard without yelling, he spoke:

“There's a walker down there, trying to get in a trailer. Seems real interested in getting inside.”

“You think there might be someone alive in there?” asked Carol, following his train of thought. Daryl nodded.

“Or maybe a nice possum for dinner,” he added, with the hint of a grin. Rick looked down the street and back at Daryl again.

“Just one walker?” He paused to consider. “Yeah, I guess it's worth checking out. We'll take the truck. Let's do this quick, we're losing light fast.” They piled in and drove down the main drag, and then onto a side row of trailers, until they saw the one he was talking about. The trailer was parallel to the street, with a covered porch along its length. On the porch, half concealed by the fading light's shadows they could see the walker. It was big, broad shouldered. It moaned and pressed itself against the door. For a moment, the three people in the truck watched in silence.

“Yeah, there's definitely something in there,” said Rick.

“Or someone,” reminded Carol.

“HEY UGLY!” called Daryl, hoping out of the truck and drawing the walker toward them. “COME AND GET US!” The lone walker turned around slowly, and lumbered down the rotting porch step. Daryl walked toward it, holding his crossbow at the ready, but as the corpse stepped into the light, Daryl took a step back, lowering his crossbow. “No,” he whispered. And it took Rick and Carol only another heartbeat to see what Daryl saw. That the walker was unquestionably his own brother, Merle. “NO!” Daryl yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. 

For a moment he let it get close, too close, and Rick had already drawn his gun when Daryl pushed his knife into his brother's head. He dropped to his knees next to the corpse, head drooping in grief. 

A silent moment passed when a movement on the porch caught their eyes, and out of the doorway of the trailer stepped a young woman. She wore a flowered sleeveless sundress. It was worn, and too cool for the early spring weather. Long blond hair framed her face and splayed over her shoulders. She was barefoot, and held a lit cigarette in her hand, the other wrapped across her stomach, shoulders hunched forward. Her eyes, partially concealed by strands of hair, were sad, and one was lightly bruised and swollen, as if she'd had a black eye recently.

Daryl stared at her through his tears and for a moment thought it was the ghost of his mama, come to take Merle to heaven. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Carol had the strangest sensation of seeing herself as a young woman, although she could swear she had never been that young, and had certainly had never been that blonde. Still, the figure on the porch seemed more of an echo from the past than a real flesh and blood woman to the pair, who stared at her silently. Rick alone addressed her. “Hello,” he said, standing up to get a better look at the woman.

“Hey Rick,” she said, shakily. “Thank you. He's been at the door for two days. I killed the one who got him, but I couldn't. . . I couldn't. . . . if you hadn't come. . . ” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly and took a drag of her cigarette, her hand shaking slightly. At hearing her voice, and his own name, something clicked in Rick's head, and he recognized the figure, but her name still fell from his lips as an incredulous question.

“Beth?” She nodded and Carol let out a tiny gasp. Beth walked over to where Daryl still hovered over his brother's corpse. She kneeled beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Daryl I'm sorry. He- he took care of me all winter. Kept me alive.” Tears fell from her eyes freely now. “And I loved him for it. I did.” Daryl put his arm around her and they huddled together over Merle, weeping softly.

It was getting dark. Rick stepped up. “Daryl, we have to go. We 'll take him with us. We can give him a proper burial at the house.” Carol put a hand on Beth's shoulder.

“C'mon, let's get your things. We have a safe place. You have family and friends there,” she said resolutely. Beth wiped at her eyes and stood.

“Maggie?” she said hopefully. Carol nodded. “Yeah, okay.” She flicked her cigarette onto the overgrown lawn and stood. Carol followed her into the house, making careful note of everything. The black eye, the light bruises on her arms, the way Beth's posture had reminded her too much of herself – Carol thought she had a decent idea of exactly how Merle had “taken care” of the girl for the past five months.

The trailer was about what she had expected. In the living room was a wood stove, a dilapidated couch, and a large recliner, surrounded by empty liquor bottles and makeshift ashtrays filled with butts. Beth wandered into the only bedroom in the back. A rumbled bed took up most of the space. Beth grabbed a back pack and started filling it with clothes and personal items from the drawers and closet. Carol noted the bedside stand, overflowing with more bottles, and an empty can filled near to the brim with more cigarette butts.

“Been here all winter?” asked Carol.

“Yeah,” said Beth quietly, as she slung the pack over one shoulder and moved back toward the main room, “It's not much to look at, I guess, but we were safe. We had each other.” She smiled a little sad smile and Carol returned it. There was so much more Carol wanted to say, as the two searched through the cupboards and pulled out the few remaining cans of food, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to upset the girl who seemed so frail an on the verge of tears. Carol watched silently as Beth carefully filled one more backpack with cartons of cigarettes and bottles of booze from a large stash in the corner of the living room, and then they left the little trailer.

“What about your shoes?” asked Carol, as they stepped into the chilly evening air. Beth gave a little shrug.

“Don't have any,” she said simply. “Never needed 'em, I guess.” It was an obvious lie, and Carol couldn't keep the pity out of her gaze.

Beth wanted to ride in the back of the truck with Merle's body, but Carol insisted she ride in the warm cab, sitting between her and Rick, while Daryl stayed in back with his brother. On the trip home she reminded Beth about her sister and listed the others who were back at the house, and her face lit up (especially at the mention of Judith) and something of the Beth she had known months before could be seen. “Is this real?” Beth asked her, more than once, and Carol did her best to assure her it was.

At the house it was bittersweet, one member of the group found alive, one member dead. Maggie hugged her little sister tight enough to almost break her, stroked her hair, and kissed her cheeks. The others crowded around and Beth greeted them all in turn, and the women ushered her inside, as the men unloaded Merle's body. While they ate, Maggie heated water on the stove, so her sister could have a bath.

After dinner, Maggie whisked her sister away, and Glenn and Carol took watch duty out on the front porch.

“I didn't want to say anything in front of Maggie, but, she's different. She's suffered, hasn't she?” asked Glenn.

“Yeah” said Carol.

“What do you think happened? I mean, what did he do to her?”

“Five months? In that little trailer with Merle,” Carol shook her head, “I can't imagine.” But the trouble was she could. She could more than imagine, she could remember. She'd once made a life with a violent tempered man, in a little house not much bigger than a trailer.

That night Carol dreamed Ed came back for her. He told her to leave with him. She did, slipping out into the danger of the night, never looking back.

 

NOVEMBER

“Look what I brought you, girl!” exclaimed Merle as he entered the trailer. He held out a whole line of dead squirrels. “We're gonna eat good tonight!” Beth smiled at him.

She skinned them, cleaned them, and cooked them on the wood stove as Merle watched closely, occasionally barking instructions from the faded recliner that had become his spot in the small home they shared. She did her best to be helpful to him, and when she brought him a plate of food he grunted a thanks. When they had finished eating he set his plate on an end table next to a half empty pint of whiskey with a clatter. “C'mere,” he said. She approached his chair. She reached for the dirty plate, but his hand grabbed her wrist tightly. “Sit,” he commanded. Beth's heart raced. There was an animal look in his eyes. She sat gingerly on his lap. “That's a good girl,” he said with a smile, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against him. He smelled like sweat, and squirrel meat, and whiskey. He kissed her cheek, and she stiffened and tried to pull away. He held her tighter.

“We were in the woods for weeks and I kept you safe, didn't I?” he said slowly. Beth nodded. “I kept you fed. And then I found this place for you. Boarded it up good so the walkers can't get in. Didn't I do all that for you?”

“You did.”

“And here I just filled your belly again, hunted your dinner with one hand, and you ain't even gonna give Ol' Merle a proper thank you.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He laughed.

“Now that ain't a proper kiss. C'mon, girl, you owe me more than that,” he growled, and her heart pounded and stomach knotted. Fear. It was fear she was feeling. Fear of this man had been simmering low inside her since the prison. It was an instinct in her gut that she had tried to rationalize away, because she couldn't run from the only person she had left.

Now his hand grasped the back of her head and their lips were pushed roughly together, and his tongue was in her mouth. Without a conscious thought her body tore away from his, backing up, against the kitchen cupboards on the far wall. The dim firelight flickered across his menacing face. A few strands of her golden hair gleamed in his fingers. “You're making me angry, girl.” She tried to shrink away further, crossed her arms protectively. “C'mere. Now.” She shook her head. “If that's the way you want it.” He lumbered toward her. He roughly grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the door. His voice was suddenly loud and angry. “You wanna take and take and not give me nothin', then you get the fuck out of my house!” He slammed her face first against the door, her cheek hitting the wood hard enough she knew it would bruise. His body pushed against her from behind, pinning her. Her ear against the door, she could hear the rasping of a walker just outside. 

“Stop, Merle. You're drunk, you don't mean this, you're just drunk!” she cried desperately.

“You think your walker friends out there are gonna treat you better than me? Huh? Why don't we find out!” And he unlocked the deadbolt, his hand on the knob. He was trying to open the door and she was pushing back, with all her weight, trying to keep it closed.

Somewhere in the back of Beth's head a stronger woman (a woman that sounded suspiciously like Maggie) defiantly said “I'd rather take my chances with the walkers out there, than be in here with a piece of redneck trash like you.” 

But Beth was not even a little bit as strong as Maggie, or Carol, or Michonne, and the words that fell from her lips were instead a pleaded apology, a tearful promise to do as he said, if he would just not open that door, if he would let her stay. The locks clicked back into place and Merle sat back in his chair and took a swig of whiskey. She moved away from the door, away from the rasping of the walkers that were aroused at the sound of the voices and were now scratching at it. She stood unsure in the middle of the room, wiping her tears, crossing her arms against herself. Waiting.

Merle took another swig of whiskey, emptying the bottle, and lit a cigarette. He chuckled. “Well, take your clothes off, girl. Let's see them tiny tits.” She winced as a walker pounded hard against the boards on the front window. “Hurry up, ain't gonna wait all night!”

This was it then. Caught between the walkers outside and this sick asshole inside. The moment had been building since that first night alone in the woods with him, when she'd noticed the hungry way he'd looked at her, and felt the fear growing inside her.

She glanced again toward the sounds at the window and knew she was out of options. She slowly peeled off her tank top. She wasn't wearing a bra. She crossed her arms across her chest for a moment, then resignedly dropped them to her sides. Merle leaned forward in his seat. His smile was cruel. “Keep going,” he said. The fact that the room was dark except the fire in the open wood stove helped some, helped keep her blinking back the tears as she stripped naked before the older man's gaze. “Turn around,” he said, once she was naked, his voice a low growl. She spun slowly in a circle. Merle shook his head. “You ain't got much. But I bet your pussy's real tight. You ever been with a man?” Beth mumbled something. “Speak up girl! I asked if you've ever been fucked.”

“No,” she said softly, adding unnecessarily: “I'm a virgin.” Merle let out a low appreciative whistle.

“Well ain't that sweet.” He dropped his cigarette butt into the empty whiskey bottle. “We're gonna have ourselves a real good time. You come climb up on Big Daddy Merle and he'll pop your cherry.” He skillfully undid his pants one handed and stroked his length, already full and hard.

Her legs shook and threatened to collapse as she slowly took the steps that brought her to where he was sitting. He stopped stroking himself to reach out and grab a handful of her bottom, tugging her closer. “Go on, up on your knees, that's a good girl.” 

She hated him. She hated everything about him in that moment. She hated his smell. She hated the roughness of his lips on her breasts. She hated the hardness of his prosthetic arm pushed against her back and side. She hated rub of the chair's rough fabric on her knees. She hated his heavy breathing, the curses he muttered, his fingers too tight on her hip, demanding she move to his rhythm. She whimpered at the pain between her legs as he violated her most sensitive place, slammed her down onto him again and again. She shut her eyes tight and prayed for it to end quickly.

Later, alone in the bathroom, she wiped the blood and semen from between her legs, tears blurring her vision. Merle was passed out in his chair. She could hear him snoring. She climbed into the double bed and curled into a ball. “Someone help me,” she whispered, thinking of her sister and friends from the prison, “someone please find me.”


	2. Cracks

APRIL

Beth lay wide awake in the bed beside her sister. Maggie had not let Beth out of arm's reach the entire evening, and insisted on Beth sleeping with her in the double bed she usually shared with Glenn. It was well meant, she supposed, and Beth was happy to be back with her sister, but she was uncomfortable with all the attention. Right now she wanted nothing more than a cigarette, and maybe a swig of whiskey.

Finally, Maggie had fallen asleep and Beth got up looked out the window. In the moonlight she could see a chain link fence around the large back yard. There were gardens and a fire pit.   
Further back, in the corner, a lone figure was standing knee deep in the ground, digging a hole. She knew exactly who it was and what he was doing. She did her best to sneak downstairs quietly, and slip out the back door. She walked barefoot across the backyard, in the old t-shirt and sweatpants Maggie had given her, until she got to Daryl. She stood silently at the edge of the grave.

“Hey,” he said quietly and set down his shovel.

“Hey.” They exchanged looks for a moment, and she was overcome with emotion. She jumped into the half-finished grave, wrapping her arms around him. He held her back tightly and she hid her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He smelled like sweat and dirt and cigarettes. “You smell like him,” she said.

“That ain't a compliment,” he said wryly. She smiled, sadly.

“I can't believe he's gone.”

“You said he took care of you?” Daryl asked. “He was good to you?”

“Yes. I'm alive because of him. I owe Merle everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said, nodding in agreement, and she knew there had been a time where it was the same for him, when he had trusted Merle with his life, and Merle had seen him through.

“Take me up to your room? Just for a little while,” she said impulsively, her face still buried in his shoulder. “I don't want to be alone.”

“Thought you were sleepin' in Maggie's bed.”

“Ain't the same thing.” She smiled up at him. It was a small sweet southern belle smile, something made for show. Daryl was silent for a moment. His furrowed expression was familiar to her, and she could tell he was considering. He was considering the situation. He was considering her. “Please.”

“Yeah, alright." He left the grave, the shovel, and Merle's body wrapped in an old tarp nearby. He left it all and let her into the house quietly, let her up the stairs, and then up more stairs into a small attic room he had claimed as his own, away from the others.

Once in the attic she embraced him again, and pressed her lips to his lips desperately, and he responded with the same neediness, making the kiss sloppy and frantic. In moments they were naked, he was on top of her and guiding himself inside her. His thrusts were hard and fast, their bodies slapping together. She could have closed her eyes and pretended it was Merle if she had wanted to. There was something similar in the movements, in the little grunts escaping his lips. But she kept her eyes open, and watched Daryl's face grow sweaty in the moonlight.

When it was over he cracked open the small attic window and lit a cigarette. She stood next to him, and they passed it back and forth, blowing the smoke vaguely in the direction of the window, standing stark naked in the moonlight. Both of their bodies were scarred but neither asked questions.

Daryl stared out into the yard. “Fuck,” he said. She knew it wasn't a regret of what they had just done, but frustration let loose on the universe for everything. For all the shit that had been dropped on them both. For all the people they'd lost, all the suffering they'd endured. For his shitty childhood, for this fucked up life.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “fuck.”

 

NOVEMBER

“You sore?” Merle had asked the next morning, seeing her hobble around the kitchen making him a late breakfast. She didn't answer. She stiffened as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I'm sorry if I hurt ya,” he kissed her hair lightly and moved away. 

For nearly a week he kept his distance. He went hunting for squirrels and scavenging the other trailers, and she cooked his meals and washed his clothes.

He brought her fruity shampoo, and told her how nice her hair smelled when she used it. The day he came home with a clean, new sundress, she'd squealed in glee, despite herself. “Go on, try it on!” he'd insisted., and she'd obliged, happy to wear something that wasn't falling apart at the seams. “You're the prettiest girl in Georgia!” he said, when she reappeared from the bedroom.

He drew near slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. “Your pussy all healed up?” he asked. She screwed her eyes shut, knowing for sure in that moment what she had suspected: that had not been a one time drunken rape, but something he expected. He would expect it from her. There was no escaping it.

“We all have our jobs to do,” she thought, her father's words bittersweet. She would do it. She would do what she needed to survive. Out loud she said” “Um, not quite. Maybe...maybe I could just use my mouth?” Anything had to be better than the pain that still echoed between her legs. A smile brightened Merle's face.

“Now that's a mighty fine idea!” He cupped her chin in his hand, his dirty thumb playing with her bottom lip. He kissed her roughly. He unbuckled he pants as he explored her mouth, took her hand in his and pushed it down the front of his boxers, guiding her along his growing length. She suppressed a shutter at the contact. “Get down on your knees,” he growled, low and husky. She complied.

He tasted every bit as disgusting as she imagined him to be. It wasn't so much a blowjob as him fucking her face as hard as he could, his hand tight in her hair, holding her still as he thrust into her. She gagged and choked and tears ran down her cheeks.

Later, alone in the bathroom, she'd vomited. It hadn't been better at all.

 

APRIL

“There's something not right with her,” Maggie said. Carol considered her words carefully before she spoke.

“She's a grown woman now. She's been away from her father's protection. From you, from all of us. She's had to make her own way. She survived. None of us are who we were a year ago.” Maggie furrowed her brow.

“But she won't talk about it. She just keeps saying that Merle kept her safe, but she's covered in scars and bruises. I saw, Carol, I gave her a bath and she tried to hide it but I saw! I asked her if he raped her and she said no. She said no like it was rude of me for asking, but there's something not right! I just don't know why she's shutting me out!” Carol sighed.

“Give her time, Maggie. It's only been a few days. Maybe she's not ready to talk about it. Maybe she's not got it all sorted in her own head yet.”

“Got what sorted? If he beat her what is there to sort out? He was an asshole and she shouldn't be mourning him and talking all this bullshit about how he took care of her.”

“It's not that simple Maggie. I wish it was but it's not.” But she could tell Maggie didn't understand at all, so she left it at that.

When she wasn't doing chores with the other women Beth seemed to spend her time sitting by Merle's makeshift grave, or smoking on the porch with Daryl. “So you smoke now?” Maggie asked her sister, trying and failing to keep the angry edge out of her voice. Beth simply blew out a puff of smoke and stared back at her with a hardened look that was so unlike the sister she had known that it made Maggie shudder.

Beth had only been there a week when the cracks began to appear. The cup of coffee she was bringing to Rick had slipped from her hands and smashed to the floor, ceramic shards and coffee flying every which way across the clean tiles. Beth panicked. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” she screamed, and dropped to the floor, frantically gathering the sharp shards with her bare hands, tears in her eyes. Rick had reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her, to stop her frantic motions, and she recoiled from his arm like a skittish dog, jerking away and shielding herself with her arms. They all saw it. They saw her fear, they all saw her tensing for the blow that never came.

“Hey, hey,” said Rick, soothingly. “It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you.” Carol was there in an instant, wrapping her arms around the frightened girl. Beth broke down in earnest then, sobbing loudly, as Rick tried to force her hands open to remove the sharp fragments that she was holding tightly in her fists. They were cutting into her skin, and blood dripped onto the floor and mixed with the splattered coffee.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Rick, after Maggie and Carol had taken Beth away to calm her down and bandage her hands. He scrubbed his hand across his beard, and then on the back of his neck, a pained look on his face. He turned angrily to Daryl. “What did he do to her? What did Merle do to her?” There was no need to answer. Not really. Daryl simply grabbed a rag, squatted on the kitchen floor, and started cleaning up the mess.


	3. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I wanted to get my ending straight before posting anything else. Thanks for reading!

MAY

“Sorry, got one more for you, Bethy,” Rick said.

“S'fine. Just leave it. And don't call me Bethy.” Beth said icily, her back to Rick as she washed the dishes.

“Okay, yeah. No problem,” he agreed quickly, leaving his dirty plate in the pile, and retreating from the kitchen. 

The group had been walking on eggshells around her ever since her breakdown. Some of them, like Rick and Glenn, had taken to giving her a wide berth, while others, like Maggie and Carol, were constantly pushing her to talk about it. Beth ended up sharing a room with Tara, the only one in the house not familiar to her from the prison. Tara was quiet and brooding and that suited Beth just fine. Beth never asked for her back story and Tara never gave her that awful “you've changed” stare she so often got from the others. Tara kept her head down and did her chores, and didn't stir up shit - something no one else seemed to be able to manage to do.

“Is that what Merle used to call you? Bethy?” asked Michonne who was drying the dishes as Beth washed them. Beth sighed.

“Yeah, one of many names. Angel. Sweetheart. Hellcat.” She laughed at the memory. “But Bethy, his Bethy. There was something so sweet in voice when he said that. When....when he really saw me. He had such a kindness to him sometimes.”

“What about the other times?” she asked slowly, cautiously, keeping her eyes on her own work. “What did he call you when he wasn't so kind?”

Beth scoffed. “Oh, you know, the classics: Bitch, whore. . . cunt.” Her voice was steady and she didn't stop washing. “Waste of space. Piece of shit. Human garbage. Slut. Slut doesn't even make any sense, because he was the only man I'd ever been with, ya know?” 

“None of them make any sense. Don't you know that? Don't tell me you think any of those words describe you.”

“Nah, not really. He mostly just said that kind of shit when he was really drunk. You know, words to scream while he punched or kicked me. Beat me with his belt. That was the worst.”

“Worse than rape?” asked Michonne. Beth stopped washing and let the words hang in the air for a moment. She shrugged.

“That only hurt real bad the first time. Belt always hurt real bad,” Beth said quietly. Michonne didn't pry any further, and they finished washing the dishes in silence.

DECEMBER

The weather was changing. It was getting colder. Colder than she remembered December in Georgia. Merle said it was going to be a bad winter. She took him at his word. He knew lots of things she didn't.

“Merle, I'm hungry,” she pleaded one dismally cold afternoon, “there's almost no food left. We need supplies.”

“I said I'd go tomorrow. Jesus, you ain't gonna starve to death in one damn day.” But he'd said the same thing yesterday, and Beth wasn't sure how long his drinking binge was going to last. There was still time enough before the sun went down if he left now, but he wouldn't budge from his chair. He tossed her a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Here, girl, smoke up, it'll take the edge off. And don't bother me no more tonight.” She knew it was pointless to argue with him. And potentially dangerous. It was best not to poke a bear. She sat on the ragged couch and lit a cigarette, tentatively inhaling. Merle watched her cough, amused. 

By the time he managed to dry out a couple days later, he could have sworn she had always smoked. It just looked so damn natural and strangely familiar, that cigarette between her fingers and the way she tilted her head back when she exhaled the smoke.

They awoke each day with the lazy winter sun: a cold breakfast and a slow start. Merle would leave her to go hunting and check the traps and scavenge and she'd work until he came home. Dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning. Patching the knees on his pants and splitting logs for the fire. She was stronger now, she knew that. She could swing an axe and split the big logs of wood they had found stacked beside the house, though she still ran inside and bolted the door if she heard a walker. Her hands were calloused, and scrubbing the laundry by hand in the icy water they pulled from the nearby river made them dry and cracked. Sometimes the cracks opened and bled as she flayed half frozen squirrels.

She was changing in so many ways. She could feel it. The spirits had tasted bitter and made her nauseous at first, but now she found she craved the burning sensation in her chest. It was warm and comforting. Their life together had settled into daily chores and long evenings by the fire, sipping slowly from separate bottles, taking long drags on cigarettes. The silence between them was soft but resolute. There was in it a sort of grim acceptance. When the fire was dying she'd wordlessly make her way to the bedroom and crawl into her side of the bed. If he wasn't passed out drunk he'd follow soon after, and some nights he'd stroke her hair and kiss her neck to let her know what he wanted.

She didn't mind much anymore. It didn't hurt bad, and she didn't bleed. She could almost pretend she wanted it. She could almost pretend that she liked him inside her.

To be honest, when he didn't come to bed she felt lonely. She ached to be touched, to be held, for any human comfort. Before, at the prison, she had always had her sister and her daddy, at least, to hug her, to rest her head against. Now, if those things only came in a package with spreading her legs and letting Merle climb on top and hump her like a sweaty old pig, then so be it. It wasn't like she had much of a choice anyway. So she took the kisses and hugs, and the hand that stroked her cheek and she closed her eyes to the violations, to the fingers pinching her nipple, the knee pushing open her thighs. 

She was changing like the weather, growing colder every day.

 

MAY

“He beat you a lot?” Daryl said, as much a statement as a question. They were naked again in the small attic, smoking by moonlight. It was their ritual now. Every few days she'd find herself being plowed into his worn mattress. A cathartic fuck and a shared cigarette.

“Sometimes.”

“What else did he do to you?”

“Whatever he wanted,” she answered flatly, and a chill ran up Daryl's spine.

“I'm sor-”

“Don't!” snapped Beth. “Don't pity me, and don't apologize for him. He was cruel man. A monster sometimes. But I'm no angel either. 'Sides, he could be real sweet when he wanted to be. I loved him.”

“Yeah,” agreed Daryl, “I get that. He could be a real asshole. But he was my brother.” Beth nodded. More silence, smoke swirling in the air.

“Where do you keep getting these anyway?” Daryl asked, nodding toward the cigarette he was butting out on a rafter.

“Not long after me and Merle moved into that trailer you found me in, he went on a run and found a little hole in the wall liquor store that was practically untouched. Whoever had been there'd only taken the practical things. Lighters, bottles of juice and soda, vodka. All the good stuff was still there. Merle was so happy. He made trips for days. Food and weapons be damned,” she laughed

“Yeah, that sounds about right” Daryl agreed with a snort.

“Oh, you should have seen it. So many bottles they took up half the living room. Cigarette cartons stacked taller than me. It's amazing to think it was all nearly gone when you found me. I put most of the rest in a backpack and took it with me. I've still got a couple cartons of cigarettes left. And a few pints of rum and whiskey. I've got them hidden different places the house, just in case Maggie takes into her head that I shouldn't have them.”

Daryl responded with a thoughtful grunt, like he had just understood something. They finished getting dressed in silence.

Beth lingered in the doorway, as if waiting for an invitation. “Goodnight,” said Daryl gruffly.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, her eyes sad. She stepped softly down the the stairs. She was almost to her bedroom when she thought again of the alcohol she had stashed. She tiptoed through the kitchen into the big laundry room with the useless machines. She opened the linen closet and rifled through the blankets until she found the pint of whiskey she had hidden there. She put a blanket on the floor of the closet and curled up, closing the closet door all but a crack and taking sips of her prize.

She stilled as she heard footsteps enter the room.

“I don't think we should do this. What if someone catches us?” whispered a familiar voice.

“Don't worry. No one will know. Just relax. It'll feel so good. I'm gonna make you feel so good.” said another voice, and Beth could hear the rustle of clothing, the movement of bodies. She wrapped herself in the blanket, covering her head to muffle the sounds. She focused on the sweet burn spreading through her body, and did her best to block out the scene playing out outside the closet door.


	4. Better Off Broken

JANUARY

Four days. He'd been gone for four days.

She paced the small trailer, chain smoking, not knowing if she should eat the last can of corned beef hash or save it. He'd never been gone this long. For three nights now she had slept in the big bed alone, without his smell, or the sound of his breathing. The last night she had sobbed into his pillow, fearful he would never return.

What would she do? She had knives, but no gun. No idea how to hunt. No clue where in Georgia she was. How far would she get on her own? She doubted she'd make it out of the trailer park alive, there were still walkers out there almost every day. She butted out the cigarette and tried to decide between eating and curling up in Merle's chair and having another good cry. The knock at the door startled her.

“Girl, you in there? Come see what I got ya!” Merle called out. In a heartbeat Beth had crossed the room, flung open the door and jumped on the older man, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as she kissed him so fiercely Merle was shocked into stillness for a moment, until his brain properly registered what was happening and he kissed her back, their tongues in each others' mouths. “Well now, ain't that a nice welcome home,” he said appreciatively, laughing, when she ran out of air and broke the kiss. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent, near hysterical.

“I thought you weren't coming back. I thought...”

“Awww, baby. Now why would I run off and leave a sweet thing like you, huh?”

He laughingly tried to pry her off of him whilst keeping away the bloody knife he had taped to his prosthetic arm. She wasn't budging. Her mouth moved back onto his and tried to connect. He allowed her only the briefest of contact with his lips before twisting his head away. “Come on now, we gotta get this inside!” She glanced over his shoulder. Behind him was child's wagon, lying on it a large deer, a gunshot wound a red wet circle in its chest. She should have been impressed, or happy, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She returned to her previous mission of kissing Merle as hard and deep as she possibly could. He turned his head away again. “C'mon girl, get off me!” He managed to pull her off this time, and she stood on the porch, still grinning. She reached out an grabbed his belt buckle with both hands, stepping backward toward the door, pulling him with her, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Jesus, girl. I want you too, believe me, I do, but I didn't just spend three nights freezing in the mud to feed the my deer to the walkers. Now help me get this in the house!” She nodded, understanding the situation, although the want still coursed through her body, dulling the concern over meat and food and walkers.

It took no time at all for the two of them working together to push the wagon up the couple of steps and into the living room. She quickly bolted the door, as Merle dropped his heavy pack on the floor, and unwrapped the bloody duct tape, freeing the knife. He stared down at his prize. “Must'a tracked her for 30 miles,” he said proudly. “Only had two cartridges left, and I decided that one of them was gonna get me a damn deer! Didn't expect her to be so big this late in the season....” He glanced at Beth, who wasn't looking at the deer, and perhaps wasn't even listening. She was waiting. Just watching him, waiting. He reached out his hand and brushed a few strands of blond hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. She caught his hand before he could pull it away, and held it against her cheek, nuzzling against it, then planting kisses on the dirty palm. Merle watched, enchanted. His smile was sweet. “You sure missed me, huh?” he said softly. She nodded. The smile faded from his face and something deeper flashed in his expression. Sadness? Regret?

“Alright, Bethy, alright,” he whispered. 

A trail of discarded clothing led to the bedroom where her lithe body straddled his muscular one, her breasts bouncing as she slid up and down on him. All of her fears, and worries, and sadness of the last few days she channeled into fucking him. Into fucking him so good and hard he would never leave her again. His hand pressed against her pubic hair, his thumb rubbing a spot that made Beth moan. “You feel so good,” he told her over and over. But she wasn't listening. She was just feeling. Feeling electricity shooting through her and fireworks in her eyes as she came, the first orgasm of her young life, hard and sudden. He came too, overwhelmed by the clenching of her muscles around him.

“Oh god,” she breathed, collapsing against his chest. “Oh god.” He chuckled, breathlessly.

They passed a cigarette back and forth as she cuddled against him, resting her head on his chest. “You're a good girl, Bethy,” he said, stroking her hair as she took a long drag. “an' I didn't mean to scare ya by being gone so long.” She handed him the cigarette in silence.

“S'okay,” she whispered at last. “I'm just glad you're back.”

“I noticed,” he smiled, putting out the cigarette in a can on the bedside table. “I woulda gone deer hunting long ago, if I'd known how horny you'd be when I got back, ya little hellcat.” She blushed at that.

“Just missed you, is all,” she replied, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her finger. He grunted.

“We gotta dress the deer,” he said gruffly, pushing her aside as he rolled out of the bed.

 

MAY

It was a beautiful spring evening in Georgia. The moon shone bright, and crickets sang. One could almost pretend the world hadn't changed at all. Almost.

The big house was settled in for the night, except for Maggie and Glenn keeping watch up on the roof, cuddling with rifles in their laps, and Beth standing on her favorite spot on the long front porch. She stared off into the darkness, butting out a cigarette on the railing and flicking it off into the long grass. Just as she turned to go inside, Carol stepped out.

“It's so peaceful out here,” said the older woman.

“Hmm,” Beth answered, trying to ignore her and get into the house. Carol blocked her path.

“You know, if you ever need to talk. I'm here.” Beth scoffed, and stepped around her. “I know what it's like. I know what you've been through.”

Beth turned on her heel and faced her. “Carol, I'm not you,” she said angrily. “We might have some things in common, but we're not the same. You chose your dick of a husband. You stayed with him. Why? Because you were afraid of him? Because you loved him? I didn't pick Merle. And I stayed with him because I would have gotten eaten alive by monsters if I walked out the door. It's different. I got dealt a bad hand and I made the best of it. I survived. You fucked up your life and dragged your daughter along for the ride.”

“That's not fair. You think everything was easy before the walkers. You were too young to know it wasn't. I lived with Ed a hell of a lot longer than you lived with Merle. I survived the best way I knew how.”

“You think you get some kind of prize for being the poor little beat up wife for all those years? You wanna wear it like a badge of honor?”

“No. I'm ashamed of who I was then. I'm ashamed that I wasn't stronger for Sophia. For myself.”

“I'm stronger than I was before. He made me stronger and I hate who I am now. You saw me react in fear one time and you think you know all about me. You think that's who I am all the time. It's not. I wish it was.”

“You wish you were afraid and weak? You want to be that girl crying on the kitchen floor because she dropped a cup?”

“You don't get it. You keep thinking you're strong now like it's a good thing. It's not. Think of all the horrible fucking shit you've done since you've gotten strong.” Beth waved air quotes around the word strong.

“I did what I needed to to survive. The same as you.” Beth laughed, cynically, getting right into the other woman's face as she challenged her words.

“No, you did what you needed to to feel powerful! Killing Karen and David. You were just so desperate to be in control of the situation, you didn't give a shit about who you hurt. Lizzie too. You couldn't have a little girl calling the shots, messing up your life.”

“Beth, you're drunk!” Carol said in astonishment. Beth shook her head in denial, backing away. “I can smell it on your breath, you're drunk!” Carol shook her head. “You're talking nonsense, Beth.”

“No, I'm not. I finally see everything for the way it really is. There's only two kinds of people left alive in this world. Those who get fucked over and the ones fucking them over. And I'd rather be the one getting fucked over because the alternative is worse. You call it strong, but that's not what it is. It's just being broken and put back together all wrong, with all the good pieces missing.”

“Beth. That's not true. It's not like that.”

“No?” Beth said angrily. “Tell me something Carol. When your husband touched your daughter, how did it make you feel?” 

“What? How could you-” Carol's eyes were large and frightened. Beth smirked sadistically.

“Answer the question. How did it make you feel when he started looking at her the way he used to look at you? When he started leaving your bed and going to hers at night?” There was venom behind her words.

“Disgusted of course. Angry. Afraid. Did Daryl tell you this?” Carol floundered, confused by the girl's knowledge and by her hateful tone.

“No, Daryl never said a word. And you're lying. Did your daddy touch you? Huh? Was Ed just like your daddy? I think he must have been. It explains so much.” 

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Carol whispered, but the way she was gripping the porch railing with both hands to steady herself sold out her lie.

“You wanna know how I know? Because I know how these things get passed along. How the sickness incubates inside you and grows there until it can't be contained. How it looses itself onto the next poor soul and spreads like an infection. We're no different than the walkers, you and I. We're infected and now we're in this house, and we're spreading it. Maybe it's inevitable. Sick things get done to us, and it turns us into sick people. Makes us do disgusting things. It happened to me, and it happened to you.”

Carol had her eyes closed tight, tears running down her cheeks. “Stop it, Beth. Please, just stop.” Beth leaned in close to her ear and whispered the words that cut the older woman to the quick.

“I was there that night in the laundry room. I know what you did to Carl.” 

And Beth turned, walking into the house and letting the screen door slam shut behind her. Carol stood sobbing. The laughter of lovers echoed down to her from somewhere high above.


End file.
